


Tales from the Kink Meme

by kuolema (salainen)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Fluff, Humor, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salainen/pseuds/kuolema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of my kink meme fills in one place. Each chapter is a different story, running the gamut from crack to fluff to serious and everything in between. Includes Will taking Hannibal to Disney World, Hannibal indulging in musical theatre, Beverly Katz being awesome, and several others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

Chapter 2: "Can You Feel The Love Tonight" - Hannibal/Will, trips to Disney World, crack  
Chapter 3: "Confidential" - gen, Hannibal and Will discuss his lack of sexual experience  
Chapter 4: "I Warned You About Cannibals, Bro" - gen, violence, Homestuck crossover  
Chapter 5: "A Cannibal In Princess Celestia's Court" - gen, crack, MLP: FiM crossover  
Chapter 6: "If You Get My Drift" - crack, Sweeney Todd references  
Chapter 7: "About To Crash" - vaguely Hannibal/Will, Will has Sensory Processing Disorder  
Chapter 8: "Not Quite the Definition of 'Prank'" - gen, crack, Hannibal frames Will as an April Fool's prank  
Chapter 9: "Visitation" - gen, Will & Beverly, visiting him in the hospital  
Chapter 10: "Admiration" - gen, Will & Hannibal, Hannibal will kill as many judges as necessary to keep Will from being found guilty Chapter 11: "Enshrined" - crack, Hannibal(/Will), Beverly finds Hannibal's Will Shrine in his basement


	2. Can You Feel The Love Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Hannibal/Will, Will wins a trip to Disney World and takes Hannibal with him".

_Will Graham calling_ reads the display of Hannibal's cell phone one dreary December day. He answers it after three rings -- it wouldn't do to look eager, would it?

"Hello, Will," he greets.

"Hey, Doctor Lecter. Listen, I have kind of a weird question to ask you."

"Is it something of a psychiatric nature, a business call, or something more personal?"

"Uh, personal, I guess."

"Go ahead."

There's a few seconds of stuttering and half-words on the other end of the line before Will asks his question. "Okay. I won a vacation from a contest on the radio that I don't remember entering -- I guess I do some weird stuff when I lose time like that -- and Jack's making me take it. But I don't really feel comfortable going by myself, and you know I don't really have any other friends to take."

"That isn't a question, Will." Inwardly he's preening over being considered Will's friend.

Will makes a noise of aggravation. "Would you come with me?"

Hannibal pretends to consider for a moment, though he's already made up his mind to go. "I'd be delighted to. To where are we headed?"

"Uh, yeah," Will says with a short, nervous laugh. "Disney World."

* * *

It's two weeks later, in early January, when Will Graham and his psychiatrist/best friend arrive at the Magic Kingdom, completely sans children. They start gathering strange looks immediately.

"Did you really have to wear one of those suits to fucking Disney World?"

"What else would I have worn?" Hannibal asks, feigning genuine puzzlement.

"Literally anything else. Are you here to do Goofy's taxes?"

"No, I am here because you asked me to accompany you."

Will resolves to get Hannibal a pair of Mickey Mouse ears with his name on them. And he will make him wear them, goddammit.

* * *

"This park does not seem to be very efficiently designed."

Will stops staring vacantly at Donald Duck. "What?"

"We've been in line for this roller coaster for nearly an hour and we have barely moved. It seems inefficient."

"That's just how amusement parks are, Doctor. The lines are always like this. Although maybe they're not in weird German parks."

"I am Lithuanian, Will. And I believe you can call me Hannibal by this point; we are vacation as friends, you are not under my care or in my office."

"Right. Force of habit."

The conversation lags for a few moments.

"I believe you may have been right, earlier."

"Huh?" Will says, intelligently.

"This suit is too many layers for such a densely populated area in this heat. Tomorrow I will dress more lightly."

Will immediately tried to guess what that would look like. He had never seen Doct-- Hannibal in fewer than three layers, even that time he showed up at his house before breakfast. The man was in a permanent state of dress.

He would bet his last dog that Hannibal's casual wear involved tying a sweater around one's shoulders.

* * *

"I think it's about time for lunch. You hungry?"

"Yes, I would like that very much."

Will cast his eyes about the area for an eating establishment. Again he found himself wondering about Hannibal in a place like this -- did he even know what hot dogs were? And if he did, had he ever eaten one? First time for everything, he thought to himself.

"You sit on this bench and keep a seat for me, I'll grab your food for you," he told Hannibal before hurrying off. He really didn't want to have to try explaining the nuances of food not made out of organs.

Or at least, not _visibly_ made of organs.

* * *

Hannibal, for his part, was diligently guarding Will's half of the designated bench with his jacket. He allowed his gaze to wander over the other patrons of the park: mainly young families with children, some groups of teenagers and college students, and one or two other full-fledged adults on their own. And of course, the park employees dressed up in various costumes. However, when he allowed his eyes to rest on the picturesque tableau of a young women in a princess costume speaking to a little girl, tragedy struck.

Someone sat on his jacket, in his Will's spot.

"Excuse me, sir," Hannibal began, keeping his tone polite but direct. "You are sitting on my jacket, in a place I have reserved."

"I don't see anyone sitting here," answered the man without even looking at Hannibal.

"He isn't here yet, as I'm sure you can see. He's procuring our lunch."

The man finally deigned to look up at who was addressing him. "I knew it," he said, after giving Hannibal a once-over. "Coupla homos hanging around a kid's park. Perverts."

Hannibal barely resisted the urge to snap the man's neck in full view of several hundred children.

"That was extremely rude," he breathed. "I demand an apology." It wasn't as good as what he'd get from the man if he wasn't in the middle of a tourist attraction waiting on Will, but it would have to do.

"I'm not going to apologize to some hoity-toity Frenchman who thinks he owns the fucking place! No one's here, I'm going to sit down."

"Uh, something going on here?" Hannibal wheeled around to see Will, his arms full of some mysterious tubular meat product and some very large beverages.

"Oh, this your boyfriend?" asked the man.

"What?" Will glanced over at Hannibal, and then back to the stranger. "Is he sitting on your jacket?"

"Yes, he is."

"Wow, that's pretty rude." Hannibal nearly swooned on the spot.

"He also called me, and by extension you, a very unsavoury name."

"Apologize to my friend," Will spat immediately upon hearing this.

"And if I don't?"

Will shifted his delicious burden into Hannibal's arms and stepped into the other man's personal space.

"Have you ever visited Tattlecrime.com?"

"What? Yeah, a few times. What are you getting at?"

"You read the articles about the insane profiler who gets into serial killers' heads?"

"Yeah...?"

Will pulled out his badge from his pocket. "That's me. And I don't want to have to get my hands dirty."

The man's eyes widened. "I'm sorry for sitting in your seat. And on your buddy's jacket. And for calling you a homo." He started skittering away, muttering something about "fucking psychos".

"Hand me one of those hot dogs, would you?"

The hot dogs tasted like victory. And also mustard.

* * *

"It appears to be getting late, Will. Perhaps we should return to the hotel for the night."

"What? No, we're definitely going to the parade."

"...Parade?"

"Yeah, every night there's this huge parade with light shows and fireworks and shit. We should go."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. A parade? Really, Will? But he gave in with a silent nod of the head and allowed Will and his trusty park map to lead him in the right direction.

"Ahh, damn, there's a crowd already," says Will when they arrive at the parade route. He's right; there's already a good amount of people there, and the number of children on their parents' shoulders is making it difficult for even someone as tall as Hannibal to see anything.

"I doubt very much I would be able to lift you onto my shoulders, Will." He earns a genuine smile for that remark, and Hannibal sincerely doubts that any fireworks he sees tonight will be able to rival it.

"I wasn't thinking that. We're just going to have to do some ...creative manoeuvring."

"Some what?"

"You know, work through the crowd a bit."

"Will, that seems a bit crass."

"It kind of is. But this isn't the opera, Hannibal, it's Disney World. A little crassness is expected." And before Hannibal can voice a reply, Will's grabbed him by the hand and is hauling him through the throng of people. To his surprise, there's very little actual shoving or jostling others; they simply accede to Will's determination and allow him passage.

Before long they've secured an excellent viewing spot on the curb. Will hasn't let go of his hand, so Hannibal just leaves it well alone, enjoying the sensation of his friend's palm pressed against his own.

They watch the gaudy parade in silence -- or rather, Will watches it while Hannibal watches him out of the corner of his eye. It's nice to see him calm and content for once, the lights of the floats and the fireworks reflecting off the lenses of his glasses, not thinking about murder or mysterious stag dreams or anything else.

"You're staring, Doctor," he says, eventually. "You're supposed to watch the parade, not me."

"Technically, yes, but I find you much more aesthetically pleasing."

It's hard to tell in the dark, but Hannibal can smell the blood rising to Will's face, and feel his pulse racing where their hands are still joined.

"I-- you-- oh, screw it," Will says, and then his hands are on the lapels of Hannibal's jacket and he's kissing him and this vacation has turned out much better than Hannibal expected after Will said the words "Disney World" to him on the phone last month.

"Will...I have to say, that was unexpected."

"First time for everything," he replies, as if that's at all a response that makes sense.

* * *

"Hey, Will! How was your vacation? You and Doctor Cheekbones have fun?"

"Yeah, actually, it was pretty good. I brought the pictures by; I thought you and Price and Zeller would get a kick out of at least a few of them."

Katz's curiosity is piqued by Will's statement, and she takes the photos from him eagerly.

"You're kidding me, he actually wore a three-piece suit to Disney World?!"

"That's exactly what happened."

"What, was he auditing the Little Mermaid?"

"Goofy's taxes, actually."

"Oh my god, Captain Hook!" Katz is nearly on the floor and it's only the second picture. "Zeller, come here a minute!" She thrusts the picture into his hand and soon they're both in hysterics.

"Did you honestly take a picture of him eating a hotdog, Will?" she asks after gaining a modicum of composure once more.

"I felt it should be recorded for posterity."

"Yeah, _posterity_ really needs a picture of your shrink eating a suggestively-shaped lunch."

She flips to the next photograph. "Is that..."

"Yes."

"What is it?" ask Zeller and Price, almost in unison.

"Doctor Lecter in shorts!" Katz laughs, handing it to her teammates.

"It gets better," Will puts in before she glances at the next one.

She actually slides to the floor upon seeing the last photo, laughing too hard to even pass comment for nearly a minute. 

"Jesus, Katz, don't leave us hanging."

"Doctor Lecter...in shorts...and the ears!" she wheezes at last, holding up the photo.

"...His name is _Hannibal_?" says Price.


	3. Confidential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Hannibal and Will have a serious conversation about Will's lack of sexual experience".

"Right on time, as always," says Doctor Lecter, ushering Will into his cavernous office with a sweep of the arm.

"Afternoon, Doctor," he responds, taking a seat in his usual chair. "What's on the menu for today?"

Hannibal's lips quirk in an almost-smile at that turn of phrase, but it's gone as quickly as it came. "That depends. Do you have something specific you'd like to talk about?"

"No, not really. I still like I'm sliding towards an inevitable break, but that's just the State of the Union these days," Will answers, huffing out a laugh that's as joyful as a school bus hurtling over a cliff.

Hannibal jots something down in his notes and looks contemplative for a moment. "I think you may benefit from some normality, Will. Today we are simply having a conversation, with no mentions of Garrett Jacob Hobbs or Jack or the things that haunt you in your dreams."

"Should I run out and get some scones for this tea party?"

"If you prefer, we could partake in some dream analysis or work further on grounding you in the instances that you lose time."

Will makes a face at the idea. "Tea party it is. What did you want to have this nice chat about, Doctor?"

"Whatever you like, Will. Your classes at the Academy. Your hobbies. Your dogs."

"You want to talk about my dogs." It's not a question.

"If you do."

"Yeah, sure. I'll tell you about my dogs. I've got seven of them now, since I got Winston. All rescues."

"From the pound, or did you find them all wandering on the side of the road?"

Will gives another small laugh at that. It's slightly more genuine than the last. Lecter takes note of this. "No, only Winston was from the side of the road. The rest are all from shelters."

"I'm surprised you don't have more than seven if you walk into shelters with any regularity."

"Believe me, I'm as surprised as you. If I could swing it, I'd probably have twenty of them by now."

"Yes, I can imagine," Hannibal says good-naturedly. "What do you like to do, you and your pack of hounds?"

"'Pack of hounds'? That makes it sound like I grab my horses and bugle and chase foxes with them. They're pets, Doctor. I do what anyone does with a pet: I take care of them, they keep me company."

"Forgive me. I have never kept an animal."

"Really? Never?"

"I generally take companionship from other people. One cannot have interesting conversations with a dog."

"No, for that you need to get a parrot." Will rubs his hands over his face. "But you know how well I do with other people."

"But there has been some improvement in that field recently, no? It sounds like you get on quite well with Ms. Katz down in the BAU laboratory, you and I are developing a certain rapport, and I would not hesitate to describe Doctor Bloom as a friend of yours."

"Alana? Yeah, I guess. It was going better before, ah, you know."

"Before you kissed her."

"Yes, before I kissed her." Will's beginning to feel like this is no longer simply a conversation between friends, but he also suspects Doctor Lecter is a bit clinical all the time. Even Alana has touches of that, and she's much better at being casual than impeccable, unflappable Lecter could ever manage.

"I was under the impression your friendship had not changed, and that she had only rebuffed your romantic overtures."

Will shifts uncomfortably under the doctor's gaze. "Yes and no. We're still friends, and of course I respect her decision not to want to pursue anything with me -- no one deserves to get swept up in that disaster -- but a rejection always makes things a little ...awkward for a while. Sometimes forever." He pauses, looks down at his hands. "I would know," he adds quietly.

"What do you mean by that, Will?"

"Come on, Doctor. Don't tell me you can't figure out what that means. You are a psychiatrist, aren't you?"

Hannibal merely continues to look at Will, who, in turn, looks everywhere else.

"Fine. God, you're going to think I've got a complex or something -- I'm used to people turning me down. Actually, I don't think I've ever had someone not reject me, unless it turned out I could do something useful for them."

"Like Jack."

"Yeah, like Jack," he agrees, sounding a little resigned.

"Until you met Doctor Bloom, you had never had a friend before?"

"No. No friends, no acquaintances, no relationships."

"So Doctor Bloom was not only your first friend, she was your first romantic interaction?"

"Are you asking me about my _sexual history_ , Doctor?"

"Only if you wish to disclose such a thing."

"I think it's been pretty loudly implied that there's nothing to disclose."

"I do not like to jump to conclusions, Will. A lack of a relationship does not necessarily entail a lack of sex."

"I can't believe we're actually discussing this. No, it doesn't, but when you can do what I do combined with my own dazzling social skills means strangers are just as off-the-table as everyone else."

"That must be frustrating."

"It's not pleasant, but I think I'd rather be able to make an actual friend than convince strangers to come home with me."

"That's very insightful. There's a great many people out there who discount the value of friendship."

"'The value of friendship'? Did you host after-school specials before you became a surgeon?"

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that reference."

"Consider yourself fortunate."

"I will take your word for it, Will. And unfortunately, this is where we will have to part for today."

"Time's up?" says Will, reaching for his coat. "I guess I'll see you next week. I'm almost looking forward to talking about hallucinations and waking up in the middle of the forest in my underwear after this."

"Fret not -- despite these sessions being in an unofficial capacity, I will guard your secrets as surely as if you were one of my patients."

"Thanks, Doctor."

"I have to say I found it a surprising revelation, however," Hannibal says conversationally as they approach the door to the waiting room.

"Why is that?" Will asks, startled both by the unexpected statement and the doctor's close proximity as he says it.

"You're a very attractive specimen, Will, in more ways than one." He opens the door. "Until next time."

Will waits until Doctor Lecter is once again ensconced in his office with his new patient. "What does _that_ mean?!"


	4. I Warned You About Cannibals, Bro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Homestuck crossover".

 

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] began trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

CT: William.

CA: You again

CT: That was very rude, William.

CA: Not as rude as you watching and talking to me without my permission

CA: And if you're going to use your mysterious alien technology to spy on me while I play this game, could you at least just call me Will

CT: If that is what you prefer.

CT: I see you have assigned your strife specibus. I can't say I was expecting pistolKind.

CA: It seemed a little more practical than knifeKind and that was the only other thing I had on hand

CT: A pity.

CT: Also, there is an umbrella in the stand over there.

CA: What the fuck am I going to do with an umbrella

CT: Oh, Will. You need to have a conversation with your server player about alchemy if you're going to ask questions like that.

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] ceased trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

==> Will: Pester Beverly.

* * *

\-- causticAffinity [CA] began pestering acerbicTechnician [AT] --

CA: Beverly, what's alchemy

AT: Hello to you too, Will :/

AT: The pseudo-science of turning lead into gold?

CA: No, in the context of the game

CA: One of those "aliens" told me about it when he was talking to me

AT: Aliens???

CA: Wait, you haven't talked to the aliens

AT: ...No, I haven't talked to any aliens. Pretty sure I'd remember that.

CA: And none of the others said anything about aliens either

AT: Nope. But I've mostly been trying to set you up, so I haven't been talking to them much. You go ahead and see if they know anything about these aliens of yours while I figure out what these machines are for.

CA: Machines

CA: What machines

CA: BEVERLY WHAT THE HELL

AT: Oops.

AT: Sorry about your toilet, there, Will.

AT: Yeah, I can see you flipping me off, calm down, princess.

\-- causticAffinity [CA] ceased pestering acerbicTechnician [AT] --

==> Will: Pester Alana.

* * *

\-- causticAffinity [CA] began pestering ardentAnalyst [AA] --

CA: Alana, have you been talking to the aliens

AA: aliens?

CA: Not you too

CA: There's this alien guy who keeps talking to me about the game

AA: how do you know he's an alien?

CA: Well, that's what he said

CA: And he's so devoted to the bit I just sort of went with it

AA: ...how long has this been going on???

CA: A few months

CA: He's only started to make sense in the last couple days, now that we found out about the game

AA: so a strange man on the internet who proclaims to be an alien started sending you cryptic messages for no reason and you just went with it????

AA: will, you know i love you, but sometimes you are the stupidest person i know!!!!

CA: I don't know, Alana, it doesn't seem like he means any harm

CA: He's been giving me a lot of useful information

CA: Though sometimes he just waits for me to figure it out instead

AA: i really don't know what i'm going to do with you.

CA: I've got some ideas

AA: oh, will, honey.

AA: now is not the time. especially since you're supposed to be getting ready to really start this game!

CA: Yeah, I know

CA: But I have to wait for Katz to finish her Extreme Makeover, Home Edition first

CA: Speaking of which, she's messaging me

CA: I'll get back to you later

\-- causticAffinity [CA] ceased pestering ardentAnalyst [AA] --

* * *

\-- acerbicTechnician [AT] began pestering causticAffinity [CA] --

AT: Well, I couldn't wrangle your toilet back into place. Apologies.

AT: But all of your crazy game equipment is ready! Better start 'em up, because it looks like Wolf Trap's right in the path of a meteor.

CA: WHAT

AT: It's exactly what it sounds like, Graham. Get your ass in gear or you and by default, the rest of us, are going to be flattened by a lot of huge, flaming space rocks.

CA: Yeah, that would probably be a bad thing

CA: What do I need to do here

AT: First, you need to crack that thing open.

==> Will: Prototype kernelsprite.

* * *

SHOW SPRITELOG

WINSTONSPRITE: bark bark bark!!!

WILL: I was kind of hoping prototyping you would mean we could have actual conversations but I guess not

WINSTONSPRITE: bark bark bark :(

WILL: Don't give me that look, buddy

WINSTONSPRITE: bark 8(

WILL: ...

WILL: Fine

==> Will: Retrieve (non-Crocker) dog biscuits

* * *

==> Will: Enter Medium.

LAND OF GLOOM AND ANTLERS

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] began trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

CT: So, Will, what do you think of your new home?

CA: It's really creeping me out, to be honest

CT: I personally find the contrast between the black sky and the pale antlers quite appealing, but to each his own taste, yes?

CA: Yeah, sure

CA: What am I supposed to be doing now, exactly

CT: You and your server player are meant to build your house towards the gate.

CA: What gate

CT: Look up.

CA: Oh

CA: How do we do that

CT: You're going to need grist. And for that you will need to kill your enemies.

CA: ...My enemies

CT: The imps and ogres of your planet.

CA: Imps and ogres, right

CT: There's one to your left now. Best bring out your gun, good Will.

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] ceased trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

* * *

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] began trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

CT: You made short work of those imps. I am impressed.

CA: Thanks

CA: I guess

CT: You don't seem very sincere.

CA: Well, I've never killed anything before

CA: Besides fish, anyway

CT: I wouldn't worry too much about it. They're nothing but game constructs, random combinations of data set to attack you.

CA: Still

CT: Still what?

CA: I don't know

CA: They just seem so

CA: Alive

CA: And they leave all this blood everywhere

CT: This troubles you?

CA: Of course it does

CA: Do they not have murder on your planet or something

CT: Yes and no. One of my standing is free to cull as many lowbloods as desired, for instance.

CA: What the hell does that mean

CA: Are you some kind of murderer

CT: I assure you, Will, all those who met their demises at my hands did so in the interest of keeping me alive.

CA: Self-defense, then

CT: More or less.

CT: Much like what you are doing with these imps. Speaking of which, I believe I should leave you to it.

CA: Wait

CT: Yes?

CA: Before you go

CA: What's your name

CA: I've been talking to you for months and you've told me that you kill people and I still don't know what it is

CT: You can call me Hannibal.

CT: Until next time, Will.

* * *

==> Will: Greet consorts.

There are way too many of these weird lizardy things for comfort, and they're all trying to look you in the eye. You're torn about whether staring into the black abyss of the sky or the cold, dead eyes of dozens of brightly coloured reptiles is the safer course of action here.

SHOW CONSORTLOG

REPTILE #1: its rude not to look at people when theyre talking to you

WILL: I can't wait for the day people stop telling me that

REPTILE #1: hisssssss

REPTILE #1: hey arent you the one who killed all those monsters blocking the roads

WILL: Uh, yeah

WILL: That was me

REPTILE #1: :o

REPTILE #1: that means

REPTILE #1: youre the

REPTILE #1: HEY EVERYONE THIS GUYS THE ONE

WILL: The one what

REPTILE CHORUS: THE SEER THE SEER THE SEER THE SEER

WILL: Help

==> Will: Answer Hannibal.

* * *

 

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] began trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

CT: You've made quite a bit of progress since we last spoke, Will.

CA: If you consider having eighteen lizard things in your personal space "making progress"

CT: It is.

CT: You've reached the top of your echeladder, and your consorts are revealing your quest path to you.

CA: Can they do it from farther away

CT: I believe that is simply their nature. My own consorts were much the same.

CA: I'm having a hard time imagining a herd of chatty iguanas carrying you around yelling "THE SEER" repeatedly

CT: They did not, no.

CT: But I am not a Seer, after all. I am a Prince.

CA: A prince of what

CT: Prince of Life. All players of this game have their own titles, much as we have our own sprites and planets.

CA: So what am I Seer of then

CT: That is not my place to reveal. I am only here to guide you when the game itself fails.

CT: Besides, you are going to find out very soon regardless.

CA: What, you can see the future too

CT: Yes.

CA: I thought you weren't a Seer

CT: I am not. The program I use to watch over you allows me access to your personal timeline.

CA: Is that even possible

CT: Apparently so.

CA: Are you watching my teammates too, or just me

CT: I keep tabs on them as well, but you are my primary focus.

CA: ...Why

CT: You are a fascinating person, Will.

CA: And you're a really weird one

CT: Such rudeness. I am going to have to train you out of that.

CA: ...

CA: Thankfully, Jack is messaging me, so I'm going to let this drop for now

CT: I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Enjoy your chat with Jack.

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] ceased trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

* * *

 

\-- authoritarianCacophony [AC] began pestering causticAffinity [CA] --

AC: WILL, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

CA: Picking daisies in a field, what does it look like I'm doing

AC: IT LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE RIDING A PILE OF SNAKES.

CA: They have legs, Jack

CA: I don't think they qualify as snakes

AC: DON'T GET SNIPPY WITH ME.

AC: WHY ARE YOU RIDING A PILE OF SALAMANDERS?

CA: I'm not "riding" them

CA: They were celebrating me as some sort of mythical hero and now they're carrying me off somewhere

AC: ISN'T THAT STRIKING YOU AS A LITTLE SUSPICIOUS?

CA: Now you sound like Alana

CA: Everything that happens to me is suspicious, didn't you know

AC: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW

CA: Never mind

AC: WILL. YOU KNOW I WORRY ABOUT YOU WHEN YOU CLAM UP LIKE THAT.

CA: I know

CA: But I think I'll be okay

CA: The lizards like me, I've got my gun, and Winston's floating around me

CA: He says to tell you he said "woof :D", by the way

AC: UH, THANKS, WINSTON.

CA: And how did you even know what was going on with me

CA: Only Beverly should be able to see me

AC: I'M USING HER COMPUTER.

AC: SHE'S BUSY WITH SOME OGRES.

CA: That answers that question

> Consort Mob: Unceremoniously drop mythical hero.

* * *

REPTILE CHORUS: THE SEER OF HEART AT LAST

* * *

==> Will: Land already.

AC: YOU OKAY? THAT LANDING LOOKED PRETTY ROUGH.

CA: I think so

CA: But really, who builds a bed out of stone

CA: And puts it outside

* * *

 

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] began trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

CT: Congratulations, Will.

CA: What

CT: You've reached your Quest Bed. The place of reckoning, the final leg of this journey.

CA: What

CT: The Quest Bed will allow you to reach your full potential as the Seer of Heart, if you have the courage to do so.

CT: I daresay you do, and I would hate to be proven wrong.

CA: What, I just need to take a legendary nap in this magical bed and I'll become some kind of wizard

CA: How does that take courage

CT: It isn't quite that simple.

CT: You do not need to sleep in the bed.

CT: You need to die in it.

CA: Die

CT: Yes. Die.

CA: If I'm dead, how will I be able to harness my secret heart powers

CT: You won't remain dead, assuming your dreamself is still alive.

CA: You mean the version of me that runs around in flamboyant yellow pajamas

CT: Unless you do that during the brief periods I am not monitoring your waking self, yes.

CA: Yeah, pajama-Will is fine

CT: Excellent. Then all you have to do is make the choice.

CA: Can I think about it for a moment

CA: Having to blow my brains out and then be resurrected as superhero is a weird idea

CT: Of course. Take your time.

CT: But you need not "blow your brains out". Even from this distance, my abilities as a Prince of Life should function.

CA: Wait, you mean you can kill me from outer space or wherever you are right now

CT: Yes.

CT: It would be quick, painless, and assured, should you let me do it.

CT: Though it is something of a pity. I've been wondering what colour your blood is.

CA: ...It's red

CA: Like everyone else's

CT: Homogeneous. How unexpected.

CT: Perhaps not such a pity, then. It would be quite difficult to see on the burgundy stone.

CA: Yeah, sorry to ruin your aesthetics with my insides

CT: Easily forgiven.

CT: Have you come to a conclusion?

CA: Maybe

CA: What do you get from dying and waking up

CT: Power. Immortality. A new set of clothes. Wings, if your species is anything like mine.

CA: You have wings

CT: Yes. Horns, as well.

CA: ...Okay then

CA: Can't say no to a good new set of clothes

CA: Kill me, Hannibal

CT: With pleasure.

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] ceased trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

* * *

==> Will: Rise up.

You are now the fully-realized SEER OF HEART. What will you do?

==> Will: Laugh bitterly at your absurd new outfit.

* * *

\-- causticAffinity [CA] began pestering acerbicTechnician [AT] --

CA: Hey, Beverly

CA: Just wanted to let you know I'm all right

CA: Since you probably saw me die back there

CA: Beverly

CA: I guess Jack's still using your computer

\-- causticAffinity [CA] ceased pestering acerbicTechnician [AT] --

* * *

\-- causticAffinity [CA] began pestering authoritarianCacophony [AC] --

CA: Jack

CA: Or Beverly

CA: Whoever's on this computer

CA: Just letting you know I'm not actually dead

CA: ...But maybe you are, since you're not answering me

CA: Still

\-- causticAffinity [CA] ceased pestering authoritarianCacophony [AC] --

* * *

 \-- causticAffinity [CA] began pestering ardentAnalyst [AA] --

CA: Alana

CA: Are you there

CA: Have you heard from Jack or Beverly

CA: Where is everyone

CA: I can't even find Winston

CA: I'll leave you alone, then

\-- causticAffinity [CA] ceased pestering ardentAnalyst [AA] --

 

* * *

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] began trolling causticAffinity [CA] --

CT: Welcome to immortality, good Will.

CT: How do you feel?

CA: oh god

CT: Something the matter?

CA: oh god oh god oh god

CA: i can see you

CA: even though i cant see you i can SEE you

CT: Ah, your abilities are as strong as I suspected they may be.

CA: what am i seeing

CT: Did gaining your abilities somehow remove your deductive reasoning skills?

CT: You're seeing my heart, Will.

CA: oh my god

CA: i can see what you did

CA: all of it

CA: beverly, jack, alana

CA: even my dog

CA: everyone was right about you and they didnt even know you

CA: youre a monster

CT: And now you're alone with me.

CT: Choose your next move carefully, Will.

\-- cuspidateTherapist [CT] ceased trolling causticAffinity [CA] --


	5. A Cannibal in Princess Celestia's Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Hannibal is turned into a My Little Pony and learns the value of friendship from the cast of MLP:FIM".

Hannibal Lecter had certainly found himself in some strange situations before, but nothing could quite compare to the sensation of suddenly being dropped into a rainbow-coloured landscape surrounded by small, equally eye-searing ponies. Hannibal's own coat, thankfully, was a dignified shade of grey.

"Hey mister, what are you thinking about?" chirps the pink one from somewhere off to his left. "You look kinda angry about it, all like 'grrrrr'! Are you upset? Would it make you feel better if I sang you a song? Or baked you a cake? Or baked you a song and sang you a cake?"

"Pinkie, I think you're bothering him," says the purple unicorn. "Sorry about Pinkie Pie, sir, I know she's a little ...boisterous." She looks him up and down. "I don't think we've met. My name's Twilight Sparkle, and these are my friends, Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and, of course, Pinkie. Welcome to Ponyville!" Twilight extends one of her front hooves, as a human would do to shake hands. Hannibal knocks against it with one of his own, hoping that's the equivalent gesture on his part.

"No, I am new to the area. I am Doctor Hannibal Lecter."

"Oh my, what an exotic name," says Rarity. A bit much coming from someone named Rarity, in Hannibal's opinion.

"So what brings you to Ponyville, Doctor?" asks Twilight. She seems the most put-together of the assembled ponies. Hannibal will eat her last. "Business, friends to visit...?"

"To tell you the truth, it was something of an accident. I'm afraid I don't know anyone in town."

"Well, now you know us!" exclaims Pinkie Pie, hopping up and down in excitement. "If you don't know anyone and you didn't mean to get here, you can stay with me at the bakery! I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Cake wouldn't mind, even with the babies!"

Hannibal was completely at a loss for words.

"I don't think he'd want to stay at the bakery, Pinkie. There's room with me at the library, or there are some hotels in town. I hear they're pretty nice."

"I couldn't impose on you young fillies like that. If you would direct me to the hotel, I would be much obliged."

Of course, the ponies did not simply direct him to the hotel; they insisted on walking him all the way there, all six of them pointing out landmarks and telling stories, even the painfully shy yellow one with the barely-audible voice.

"Well, here we are, Doctor! See you around!" said Twilight with a friendly wave, her sentiments echoed by the small herd of companions circling her.

Hannibal had no idea what, exactly, had just happened as he walked through the doors of the Ponyville Inn.

* * *

His next run-in with the young pony-ladies was several days later, while he was having tea at a café near the hotel.

"Oh, hey, Doc," Rainbow Dash says, sliding into the chair next to him at his table. Hannibal narrows his eyes at her lack of boundaries -- she didn't even ask if she could join him! "How're you liking Ponyville so far?"

"It's very different from what I am used to," he answers. "Much ...brighter."

"I could whip you up some clouds, if that would help! Here, watch!" And before Hannibal can answer her, she's vanished in a streak of rainbow colours, and true to her word, within seconds there's a thick layer of clouds hovering above his table. The rest of the town remains clear and sunny, but over this one little table at this one little restaurant, it is as dreary and grey as can be.

He's actually caught off-guard for a moment when she slams back down next to him. "O-oh. Thank you, that's much better."

"No problem! Nothing I wouldn't do for a friend. Oh man, is it noon already? I promised Scootaloo I'd teach her some rad new board tricks today and I don't wanna be late. Gotta go!" And with that, she's gone once again.

_What's a "Scootaloo"?_ is all a dazed Hannibal manages to think as he watches her zoom away.

* * *

"Howdy, Doc!" calls Applejack as he wanders onto the sprawling Apple Family Farm. "How're you today?"

"Fine, thank you," he responds.

"This is your first time out here, ain't it? What d'ya think of our little farm?"

"It's ...lovely." He means it as a necessary but unfelt pleasantry at first, but as he continues to look at the orchard from their perch on a hilltop, he realizes that it is quite lovely, all the red apples shining against the glossy autumn leaves.

"Aw, thanks! This here land is the pride of the Apple family -- we've been livin' on it and off it for hundreds of years, you know! Hey, it's about lunchtime, and Applebloom tells me Granny Smith's made up a coupla her famous pies. Why don't you stay and have lunch with us?"

"That's very kind, but --"

"I won't take any of your fancy city manners, Doc -- when an Apple woman invites you to lunch, she means it. Now come over this way and have a seat."

Hannibal takes the offered seat and learns that there's a reason Granny Smith's pies are famous throughout Equestria.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Doctor!" trills Rarity when he opens the door of his hotel room to find her standing in the hallway, a fashionable pair of saddlebags on her back. "I hope you weren't too busy, but I wanted to stop by and give you this!"

"No, I was not busy at all. Come in," he says, ushering her inside despite the wariness building inside.

"I've been working on this since we met you on the outskirts of town that day -- as soon as we met, I said to myself, 'Rarity, that is a well-dressed gentleman of impeccable taste if there's ever been one,' and then I had a flash of inspiration and _voilà!_ " With the assistance of her unicorn magic, she pulls a suit, perfectly tailored for pony proportions, out of her saddlebags.

"It's magnificent," he says. Rarity tosses her perfectly-styled mane at the compliment. "I cannot accept something this fine as a gift."

"Don't be silly, darling, of course you can! I made it especially for you; I can't very well give it to someone else. All I ask is that if anyone asks you where you got such a marvellous suit that you tell them about me."

_Finally, someone who shows at least some self-interest,_ Hannibal thinks with a slight smirk. "Then I accept. Thank you, Miss Rarity."

"You're welcome, Doctor! I hate to gift and run like this, but I have a few more deliveries to make. Making you that suit got me on a menswear kick and I have this absolutely divine sweater-and-slacks ensemble to bring to Spike, among others. _Au revoir!_ "

Equestria is certainly nothing like Baltimore.

* * *

"Oh, hello, Doctor Lecter. Um, I hate to bother you, but would you mind helping me for a moment? I wouldn't ask normally, but it's not for me."

"Certainly, Fluttershy. What do you need?" Hannibal noted with a twinge of fright that he meant that sentence in complete sincerity.

"Um, it would be easiest if you just came with me, I think."

He followed her slow, graceful flight through town and into the woods near where she lived, never even fearing the possibility that she was leading him into a trap. Ponyville was really getting to him.

"This poor creature's stuck in this trap, and I'm not strong enough to open it myself, so..."

"Yes, of course. One wouldn't want fresh meat to go to waste."

Fluttershy looked aghast. "No, no, no, I don't want to eat her! I want to help her!"

"No, of course not. Simply a joke."

"Oh, sorry, I guess I didn't get it. I take my animals very seriously," she says as she lands next to the newly-freed rabbit, checking it over for injuries and giving it a kiss on the forehead before it hops away. "Thank you for your help. I would have asked Rainbow Dash or Applejack, but they're both out in Fillydelphia for the weekend at that sports thingy. If there's anything I can do to repay you, just let me know."

Hannibal actually found himself smiling when he thought about what had happened; Fluttershy's awkward manner and deep concern for her animal friends reminded him a little of Will. He wondered if Will missed him, now that he had vanished into the pony dimension. _Probably not,_ he concluded. _I certainly have not been as kind to him as any of these ponies have been to me._

* * *

"I know we didn't exactly get off on the right hoof, but somepony told me that it was your birthday, and somepony else told me about you helping Fluttershy when Dashie and Applejack were out of town, sooooo I baked you this cake! And there's a party at the bakery tonight if you want to come, but Fluttershy said you didn't really seem like a big party guy so it's okay if you don't wanna! Anyway, happy birthday!" Pinkie Pie was gone as soon as she arrived, leaving only a large German chocolate cake and a red envelope behind.

"My favourite cake," Hannibal whispered to himself as he gazed upon it, invitation to his own birthday party in hoof. He revised his internal desire to turn the loud pink pony into adhesives.

The party that night turned out to be a rather elegant affair, much more in-tune with Hannibal's sensibilities than he would have expected from Pinkie Pie. When he told her this, she just said "Duh! You don't get a party-planning cutie mark if you don't know how to plan the right kind of party for each pony!", which left Hannibal just as confused as ever, but he appreciated the gesture.

* * *

"Twilight? May I speak to you for a moment?" Hannibal said as he entered Ponyville's small but tidy library.

"Of course, Doctor! I was just working on my latest report for Princess Celestia. But I've been so busy this week I don't know if I've really got anything to tell her. And Spike hasn't been much help either -- he just told me to write to her about the Dewey Decimal system. As if the Princess wants to get a letter about that!"

"I may be able to assist you on that front. The others have told me that they have reported their own lessons to the Princess in past letters, and if you would allow me, I believe that I have something to offer on that front."

"Really? That would be great! I was about to start pulling my mane out, since I didn't have anything to tell her. You can use my desk. Just give the scroll to Spike when you're done and he can send it to Princess Celestia."

Hannibal sat at Twilight's desk, took out a fresh quill and pot of ink, and took a moment to compose his thoughts before beginning to write.

_Dear Princess Celestia..._

* * *

"Doctor Lecter? Doctor Lecter, can you hear me?"

Hannibal opened his eyes to see Will Graham's concerned face hovering above him.

"Will? What has happened?"

"I have no idea! We were having a conversation, and then you just passed out! I'm glad you're back, though I should probably take you to the hospital."

"I'm glad to be back as well. You are likely right about the hospital -- I believe you may need to visit as much as I do. There are some things I need to share with you, Will."

"Uh, okay. Let's start heading out to the car, though, all right?"

"Of course. Lead the way, my friend."

* * *

_Dear Princess Celestia,_

_Before my unexpected arrival in your realm of Equestria, I am ashamed to admit that I had never understood the concept of friendship. All of my interactions were shallow and meant only for my own benefit, never knowing that it could be as wonderful to help others as it is to help ourselves. Your student Twilight Sparkle and her closest friends have changed that, showing me that kindness, laughter, generosity, loyalty, and honesty are truly the important things in life, much more so than power, control, or the warm weight of a victim's liver in one's hands._

_It is with boundless gratitude that I write you this report from the desk of our mutual friend. May you feel as blessed as I, Your Majesty._

_Your loyal subject,  
Doctor Hannibal Lecter_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the dumbest thing I have ever written and considering what else is in this compilation I think that says a lot


	6. If You Get My Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "something involving the song 'A Little Priest' from _Sweeney Todd_ ".

Today's victim isn't one of Hannibal's. It still strikes him as slightly odd to be looking over Will's shoulder at bodies he didn't put there especially for him to investigate and feel and see, but it's always a joy to watch him work, to watch him drop the always-thinning veneer of sanity that he clings to and show Hannibal what he's really capable of. Beautiful. 

Less beautiful is the corpse lying on the ground in front of them, a rather routine killing to experienced eyes; Hannibal's surprised the FBI has even been called on it. The victim is a heavyset fellow in his forties, a single stab through the heart having taken him out. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened here -- the killer is no Shrike, no Angelmaker, no Hannibal. Dull and graceless.

"Seems a downright shame," Hannibal murmurs, noting how tender the deceased's flesh looks.

"What?" says Will, shaken out of his body-induced catatonia.

"Nothing," he replies, quickly. Will frowns, but returns to his work without further comment.

* * *

"I'm not sure what they want me to do on this case," Will is saying, hours later. They've moved from the crime scene to Hannibal's office. "It looks more like a mugging gone wrong than any kind of serial killing. I don't usually do this kind of thing; the profile's too generic. It's like Jack's just sending me out on anything in the area now, hoping it's the Ripper."

"But you're certain this is not his work."

Will snorts. "Of course it isn't. The Ripper's work is art, and he doesn't go in for minimalism. This is just some run-of-the-mill homicide -- the killer didn't even take any of the organs."

"Seems an awful waste," Hannibal says. Will's head whips around from where he's standing, staring at Hannibal's bookshelves back to the doctor himself.

"Doctor?"

"Such a nice plump frame what's-his-name has. Had. Has," he continues, advancing on Will. His face is frozen in a perfect display of shock, all wide eyes and open mouth; Hannibal's not sure if it's because he's finally slotted the pieces into place, or because he wasn't expecting this moment to happen in song.

"Doctor Lecter, I --" Will tries as Hannibal crowds into his personal space. His eyes are darting everywhere, not daring to look anywhere above Hannibal's shoulders.

"Nor it can't be traced..."

"Are you singing about this?"

"Think of it as thrift!" He moves his lips to Will's ear and his hands to his wrists. "As a gift. If you get my drift."

Will squirms against him, trying to throw him off, but Hannibal is much stronger and he remains exactly where he wants to be. He carries on with the song.

"Seems an awful waste with the price of meat what it is, when you get it, if you get it. Good, you've got it," he leaves in, even though the man he's currently pressing against his bookshelves got it several minutes ago. 

He takes a break from the song -- musical theatre isn't really to his usual taste, but he makes an exception for Sondheim -- to yank Will from the wall back to his usual chair, depositing him in it with all of his characteristic grace. Hannibal keeps his hands on the arms of the chair, keeping Will trapped and close by.

"You're the Chesapeake Ripper," he says, breathing heavily. He hopes he won't have to get a paper bag.

"Yes."

"And you've decided to reveal yourself to me."

"Yes."

"In song."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Hannibal gives a slight shrug. "I believe you already know that."

And he does -- the Chesapeake Ripper is nothing if not a performer. He would have expected something like this, assuming he had been expecting it at all. In hindsight it all fits together like cogs in a machine, but the idea that his psychiatrist- _cum_ -friend is the man he's been hunting this whole time does not.

He forces it. If Hannibal was given to such flights of fancy, he'd almost say that he could see Will break under him.

Hannibal takes a step back from the chair, a triumphant smirk on his face. When he offers Will his hand, he takes it.

"Doctor Lecter," he starts, as Hannibal pulls him up from the chair, "how I've lived without you all these years I'll never know. How delectable, undetectable, think about it!"

He sweeps Will over to the window and throws open the striped curtains to reveal a view of a busy Baltimore sidewalk. 

"For what's the sound of the world out there?"

"What, Mr. Graham, what, Mr. Graham, what is that sound?"

"Those crunching noises pervading the air?"

"Yes, Mr. Graham, yes, Mr. Graham, yes all around!"

"It's man devouring man, my dear, and who are we to deny it in here?"

It's the most wonderful thing he's ever heard anyone say. Or sing.

* * *

He makes dinner for the both of them that night. It's a novel experience, not trying to pass it off as anything or anyone but what it is.

"What is that?" he asks, pointing to the meat.

He has to think about it for a brief moment, and then realizes. "It's priest."

Will laughs, then indulges him. "Is it really good?"

"It's too good, at least. Then again, they don't commit sins of the flesh, so it's pretty fresh."

"Awful lot of fat."

"Only where it sat."

"Don't you kill poets, or someone like that?" He grins at his alterations.

"No. The trouble with poet is how do you know it's deceased? Eat your priest."

* * *

They try to be subtle about it, but Baltimore ends up missing a bishop, several reverends and pastors, a retired Marine, the owner of a chain of grocery stores, a tailor, a sculptor, a locksmith, multiple secretaries, a banker, the old lady who worked the till at one of the aforementioned grocery stores, another member of the Philharmonic, a local actor, a candidate for mayor, and a judge.

Fortunately, no one on the team investigating these murders seems to have any familiarity with the works of Stephen Sondheim.

* * *

"I appreciate you having me over for dinner so often, Hannibal," Alana says as she hands him her coat. "I'd start refusing you if I had that kind of willpower."

"Nonsense. We'll serve anyone, meaning anyone," -- and _to_ anyone -- "at all."


	7. About to Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Will has Sensory Processing Disorder".

He knew agreeing to this was a bad idea. He should have listened to his instincts and said no. But instead he let himself do the polite, socially-mandated thing (for once) and said yes. A full-on, dozens-of-people dinner party. This weekend. What was he thinking?

"Black tie," Hannibal calls after him as he stalks away post-acquiescence. Great. Just great.

Will's in a foul mood when he gets home; just thinking about what he's going to be doing this weekend has set him on edge, and after he takes care of the dogs' needs -- seven barking dogs is the opposite of what he needs right now -- he locks himself in his bedroom, a pillow over his face to block out the light. He must be stressed out over this if he's avoiding visual stimuli; he hardly ever has negative reactions to something on sight. He huffs a sigh into the soft flannel of the pillowcase.

The mood doesn't abate for the next few days. Every time he begins to return to his usual state, if not actually happy or stable, he remembers that he's promised to sacrifice his sanity and/or dignity on the altar of friendship, or whatever it is that's going on between him and Doctor Lecter. He's short with everyone (well, shorter than usual) and has a hard time concentrating on his work (well, harder than usual). He finds himself trying to come up with an excuse to get out of going to this _thing_ , but he also knows the doctor would consider that rude, and he's the kind of guy that takes manners disturbingly seriously.

Will knows he's being childish about the whole thing. It's stupid to get this worked up over something as simple as a dinner party. Social gatherings are a fact of life, he knows, even if one he's never gotten accustomed to. Too much noise, too much touching, too many people to acknowledge and process. He hates it, hates his reaction, hates himself. 

He takes an aspirin for his budding headache and prays to anyone who might be listening to let this party go easy on him.

* * *

Saturday night finds him at Doctor Lecter's front door, already beginning to squirm in his stiff shirt and heavy suit. He misses his worn flannels and jeans, and he only changed an hour and a half ago, having put it off until the last minute in an attempt to arrive at this party in the closest approximation to a good mood that he can muster. Will gives a short, sharp knock on the door and presses the palms of his hands to his pantlegs. He immediately wishes he hadn't, now feeling like he needs to wipe them on something else and get the sensation off. He's standing there with his hands up in front of his chest when the doctor opens the door.

"Will," he says by way of greeting. "I have to admit, I worried you would not come tonight."

"Trust me, I tried to come up with something, but I figured you'd probably think it was unspeakably rude."

He smiles as he takes Will's coat. "Yes, I suppose I would have. The guests are assembled in the sitting room at the moment." He points through an open doorway to where several people are standing; there are likely even more he can't see from this angle. Will reaches for his aspirin only to realize that he left it in his coat pocket and he doesn't dare ask for it. He takes a quick look back at Doctor Lecter, hoping he'll pick up on Will's distress and come with him or send him home, but the man is still dealing with Will's old coat, so he drags his feet to the sitting room.

As expected, it's full of people he doesn't know, rich, cultured people who are looking him over and finding him wanting. Despite the name, there's nowhere left to sit in the sitting room, so Will just stands near the door, uncertain of where to position himself. The brief silence that greeted his entrance fades as quiet conversations pick up again, a half-dozen layered over each other into a solid wall of noise that creeps into Will's temples and helps build on the foundation of the headache he's already got from stressing himself out.

"Will!" says a familiar voice from his right, and he turns to see Alana's smiling face. "You came after all. I know Hannibal was worried that you wouldn't."

"No, I thought about it, but I, uh, decided it might be a good idea to come and. Socialize."

She fixes him with a look, as if she doesn't quite believe him. Which, he admits, she probably shouldn't. "Well, I'm glad you did."

He ducks his head. "I didn't know you were coming -- I probably wouldn't have tried so hard to get out of this if I knew." It's not quite true, considering how much this get-together is weighing on him, but he does like her enough that he considers the night to have taken a turn for the better. Now if only everyone nattering in the background would shut up; it's making it hard for him to hear Alana.

"Charmer," she says with a smile and a playful tap on the arm. "You want a drink?"

"Several," he says, glancing around at what's presumably Baltimore's elite, crowded around Hannibal's sitting room. He rubs his hands against his pantlegs again in an attempt to take some of the edge off his mouting anxiety, but it only serves to make it worse until Alana presses a glass into his hand. He clutches the smooth surface of it like it's the only thing in this world he can trust.

_Maybe things will be all right,_ he thinks, _if I can stick close to Alana and drink instead of talking._ But his dreams of an easy night are quickly shattered when halfway through his first glass of scotch Hannibal asks Alana for her help in the kitchen and he's left alone. An older woman in a green dress descends upon him.

"I don't believe we've met," she says, taking one of his hands from where it's still wrapped around his glass. She has an extraordinarily high-pitched voice, and Will's eye twitches involuntarily at the sound.

"I'm Will. Will Graham," he tells her, wishing she'd take her uncomfortably dry hand from his and stop talking. He feels bad for being so uncharitable, but he also feels like if this keeps up he may finally lose his mind altogether.

"Ah-ha!" she exclaims. "The one from the FBI. I should have known; Hannibal has told us much about you." She gives him an exaggerated wink. Will's brows furrow in confusion. What was he telling them? "A colleague at the FBI with an impressive ability"? "A patient of mine who sleepwalks miles every night"? "A distinctly plebian fellow I know who always looks a bit like he's being tortured, smells like desperation and Old Spice, and may or may not show up dressed like a fisherman"?

"Oh," is all he says.

"You must tell me all about it," she says. "It must be terribly exciting, and heaven knows I could use some excitement, even just in stories. All I hear are my Reginald's stories about the bank -- Reginald is my husband, of course..." The woman continues on. Her squeaky voice continues to be as a drill directly into Will's brain, and he doesn't even have the comfort of his usual clothes or his dogs or Alana or Hannibal. Even his glass is empty, and he doesn't know how to get out of this situation long enough to try and refill it. Her narration is only broken when Doctor Lecter comes into announce dinner, and everyone rises to file into the dining room. Not sure if there's some sort of code regarding these things, Will lets everyone else go first.

He takes the seat with the card reading his name on it, halfway down the table on the left, not close to Hannibal at the head of the table or Alana, a few seats up on the other side. On the bright side, he's not particularly close to the woman who was talking his ear off in the other room, either. He's so distracted that he misses the name of the food, presumably some sort of bizarre French organ dish. That seems to be Hannibal's wheelhouse. 

Despite his many sensitivities, Will has never been much of a picky eater -- a childhood of Southern poverty will eventually grind it out of you -- but he's so on edge from everything else that's gone wrong tonight that everything feels wrong in his mouth. The meat slides against his tongue in a way that makes him want to retch, and the vegetables squeak against his teeth. He sighs internally. Will just sticks to his wine after that, trying to keep his mostly-full plate hidden. He'd offer it to someone else, but he's convinced that would be an even more unforgiveable faux pas than not eating it at all, though he doesn't really know why. Maybe he should have done some research before coming over.

The people seated next to him are engrossed in their meal, and the sounds of their silverware on their plates clangs harshly in Will's ears. Across from him, several people are having a lively (if still genteel) conversation, and it forms a heavy weight in his head. Someone laughs close to Hannibal's end of the table. Everything is starting to weave together and build on itself, creating a storm of sensation in Will's brain.

He can tell he's starting to dissociate from the situation, his eyes fixed on a point straight ahead while he grips the stem of his wine glass in a white-knuckled hand, but if he was to allow himself to regain full consciousness he'd probably start screaming or run out of the room, and he's trying to seem polite and not completely insane in front of this room full of people. Especially a room containing two people who could and probably would mention it to Jack, and then he'd be forced on leave until he could leave the house like a normal person. So he lets it all wash over him and worm its way into his mind, stretching him out thin and defenseless, and waits for it to be over.

"So," asks the man to his left, after the first course is done and being whisked off the table by the doctor's hired help, "how do you know Hannibal?"

Will can hardly hear him over the din of the dishes clattering and the other conversations at the table. "We met through the FBI," he says shortly, less in the mood for small talk than usual.

"You're an FBI agent?"

"No, I'm a teacher." He clenches his fists repeatedly under the table, trying to do something to distract from the tidal wave of sound.

"I thought you said you were in the FBI?"

"Yes," Will says, trying very hard not to grit his teeth against his explanation, "I teach new agents at Quantico. Sometimes I do field work, but I am not an agent."

The man asks him another question, but the person on his other side has struck up a conversation and now that's interfering with his ability to hear, both just by adding volume and by its proximity to his ears. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

He obliges, but Will still can't make heads or tails of it, only hearing the murky sound of ten conversations overlapping. He knew this would happen eventually; he's always had problems isolating certain sounds above everything else. His actual hearing is fine, he's had it tested, but it's as if his inner sound-mixer doesn't work and everything's been pushed to the same volume. It's not debilitating enough for him to bother explaining it to people, but every so often he gets stuck in a conversational loop because he _just can't hear_ what the other person is saying. Another reason he doesn't talk much, alongside "he doesn't want to" and "everyone asks him a lot of stupid questions". 

After three requests to repeat himself, the man rolls his eyes and gives up on it, deciding Will is either being purposefully obtuse or that he can't comprehend a simple question. Will sinks into himself a little, embarrassed at his failure.

He makes it through the rest of the meal without jabbing his fork into anyone or telling anyone to shut up, so he considers it a success. As soon as everyone adjourns from the dining room, he makes a break for Hannibal's bathroom, desperate to be somewhere quiet for once. In a stroke of luck, the room has a dimmer switch, so he lights the room only enough to see, locks the door, and slumps to the ground, back against the wall.

He lets out a sigh he was only vaguely aware he was holding in, and it kicks him out of his dissociative state and into full awareness again, at which point he immediately starts crying. He feels like a complete fool, sitting on his only friend's bathroom floor, head in his hands as he tries to come back from overload.

There are footsteps outside the door a few moments later, and he tenses up, ready to get up and hand over the room to someone else, but he realizes it's two people, and that he recognizes their voices. He misses most of their conversation because he's still crying and intermittently putting his hands over his ears like a child, but Alana sounds frustrated about something, while Hannibal's voice is low and apologetic. Soon there's the sound of her high heels clacking into the distance as she leaves, and a knock on the bathroom door.

"Will?"

"Yeah," he says. He sounds absolutely miserable.

"May I come in?"

"It's your house," Will says before realizing that was probably impolite, but Hannibal just gives a small chuckle and lets himself in, shutting the door gently behind him.

"You never disclosed these episodes to me," he says after a moment.

"And give you another reason to think I'm losing my mind? Besides, aren't we just having _conversations_? I don't think I'm required to talk about the fact that sometimes I wind up crying on the floor because too many people are talking with everyone I have a chat with."

"No, I suppose not, but I would have liked to help you with it."

"That's assuming there's anything that can be done about it." Will has had a lot of doctors over the years, and even the best of them were worse than useless when it came to his processing issues.

"Something can always be done, Will," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "For instance, I will be certain not to invite you to any parties in the future."

Will snorts. "Thanks."

"Also," he continues, "I know some patients with sensory disorders appreciate contact in these moments. You live a solitary life, but should you ever wish for someone to be there I would volunteer my services."

"Is that a roundabout way of telling me you'll hug me if I ask for it?"

"Essentially."

"Then do it," he says, and it sounds much more like a challenge than he intended. He's not even sure why he's allowing this, why he asked for it, but deep under the layers of bitter standoffishness and fear is someone starving for affection, and apparently he's starved it long enough that he's willing to be cuddled in the bathroom by his almost-psychiatrist.

"I'm sorry about this," he blurts out after a few seconds of contact. He's bunched up into Lecter's chest with his arms between them and his head on the doctor's shoulder, keeping the backs of his hands pressed to his silk waistcoat in an attempt to avoid further meltdowns. There's a reason his closet is full of nothing but horrible cotton clothing.

"Do not apologize for things outside of your control, Will," he says, moving one hand to the back of Will's head, carding through his hair. The other remains solidly on his back.

"I meant for the hug."

"Is it unpleasant for you?"

"No, I just thought it might be for _you_. You probably didn't plan tonight with babysitting me through a tantrum as your endgame."

"Perhaps not, but I don't find it a disagreeable way to spend time. And I have to say, both as a person and a professional, this is the politest tantrum I have ever witnessed."

Will laughs. "I'm sure you appreciate it."

"I don't appreciate your suffering, Will." His hand continues to comb through Will's hair. He feels a bit like a dog being petted, but at the same time it's one of the most soothing things he's ever felt, so he doesn't voice his objections.

He lets the hug go on for a few minutes and feels a vague disappointment well up in his chest when he pulls away. He files that emotion away to be analysed later, when he doesn't feel so much like an upright corpse.

"I should. Probably go now," he says, even more loath than usual to make eye contact.

"I don't believe it would be wise for you to drive right now."

"Probably not, but there's no other way for me to get home."

"I was not suggesting you find a way home. I was suggesting that you stay here."

"Oh, no, I couldn't do that," Will says, another minor panic rising at the thought of burdening someone with his presence like that.

"I insist. The house is large enough that I should have a room far enough from the party that you will not be bothered by the noise, and I have sufficient sleepwear for you to borrow some."

"I should probably warn you that I have similar reactions to certain fabric," he says, still trying to get out of it.

"Not everything I own is made of silk and wool," he says. "Come, I will take you upstairs."

It takes some rummaging through his closets, but Hannibal does come up with bedsheets and a set of pajamas that Will not only finds palatable, but legitimately comfortable. He is slightly annoyed by this.

"I will make something simple for breakfast," the doctor says as he changes clothes, back turned instead of leaving the room, "as you did not seem to enjoy your dinner."

Will flushes. "Sorry. I'm not normally like that."

"Since there were mitigating circumstances, I'm sure I can forgive you." He turns to look at Will, dressed in his own overlarge pajamas. Will sees a flash of something like interest in his eyes before it's replaced by his usual calm demeanour. He thinks he may have sorted out the squeaky woman's inexplicable wink. "Now, you would probably like to lie down."

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, still distracted and embarrassed.

"Then I bid you goodnight," he says, but instead of walking towards the door he comes closer to Will, running his hand through Will's hair one last time. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, and in another moment of uncertainty, he thinks the doctor presses a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well."

Despite the crushing exhaustion, Will suddenly feels like he's not going to sleep at all.


	8. Not Quite the Definition of 'Prank'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Hannibal's framing of Will was actually an elaborate April Fools' Day prank". There's also a minifill tacked on the end of them "celebrating" other holidays.

Of all the people waiting to pick him up upon his release from the Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane, Will was not expecting Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Perhaps he should have, knowing the doctor's strange obsession with him and his flagrant disregard for the unwritten rules of getting away with crimes you've committed, but it still surprises him when he sees Lecter's Bentley in the parking lot. 

He knocks on the window.

“I'm not getting in there,” he says when the window rolls down.

“I believe you will,” Hannibal says, looking infuriatingly smug. As usual. “No one else is coming for you, as I offered my services as your chauffeur. I believe the others have decided to throw you a party – it was meant to be a surprise, but I suspect you are the sort of man who doesn't appreciate such gestures.”

Will frowns. He didn't have his cell phone on him when he was committed, so he didn't get it back with his other possessions, and now he's trapped between a rock and a hard place: going back inside to try and convince Chilton to let him use his phone, or getting in the car with the man who framed him for murder.

He gets in the car.

“Congratulations,” he grumbles. “You got me.”

“Yes, I did.” He starts up the car and pulls smoothly out of the parking space.

They drive in silence for a few minutes. To break the unbearable quiet, Will turns on the radio and finds the most offensive station he can – currently a “morning zoo” program chattering raucously between playing the Glee soundtrack and what he suspects, but can't say for sure, is Justin Bieber. He grits his teeth against it, his only consolation that this must be bothering Doctor Lecter more.

“Are you trying to get revenge on me for having you framed for murder by playing pop music?” he asks over the din.

“Yes,” Will admits. Hannibal sighs.

“You know I was the one to get you out of your confinement as well, yes?”

Will goggles. He honestly didn't, having assumed the evidence presented at his trial was found by Katz and her team, or at least someone on his side. Now that he thinks about it, it conveniently erased most of the case against him without building one against anyone else, which would make sense if Hannibal accumulated or forged it.

He switches off the horrible radio station. “Why did you do that?”

The doctor gives an elegant one-shoulder shrug. “A variety of reasons. Primary among them: I found myself missing your company.”

“You busted me out of jail so we could be buddies again.” He doesn't phrase it as a question.

“I did hope so.”

Will can feel himself making the most exaggerated expression of disbelief ever to appear on a human face. “Are you out of your mind?” He doesn't fill in the unsaid because as soon as I'm back at the FBI I am having you arrested.

“Perhaps. But aren't we both?”

He scoffs. “I feel too much for other people and have some social issues. You're a psychopath who eats his victims. It's not exactly the same thing.”

“We will agree to disagree,” he says, as if they were talking about movies or restaurants and not “being a cannibal”.

They arrive at Will's house in Wolf Trap in the midafternoon. There are an awful lot of cars parked outside; he recognizes Jack's, Alana's, and Beverly's among them.

“Nice surprise party,” he mumbles under his breath. Hannibal smirks beside him.

“By the way, Will,” he says conversationally as they make their way towards the house and the party, “do you remember the date you were arrested?”

“What?” Will asks, his eyebrows knitting together.

“The date. Do you remember?”

“April first,” he says, still uncomprehending. “Why?”

Hannibal knocks on the door, then bends down to whisper in Will's ear. “April fool's.”

Alana swings Will's front door open just in time to see Will tackle Hannibal to the ground.

* * *

**EASTER**  
"Hannibal, I distinctly remember having this conversation with you before the holiday."

"Which conversation was that, Will?"

"NOT TO FILL THE EGGS WITH PEOPLE!"

**HALLOWEEN**  
"Okay, this is not funny."

"I don't know what you mean."

"While I appreciate you buying actual candy for the trick-or-treaters and your promise not to murder anyone who chooses to egg the house, your costume is tasteless and cruel."

"I think it's very accurate."

"'Accuracy' is not my concern, Hannibal! My concern is that you dressed up as 'Abigail's corpse', complete with missing ear!"

**THANKSGIVING**  
"Put down the knife, Hannibal."

**CHRISTMAS**  
"Merry Christmas, Will."

"On a scale of one to ten, how much am I going to regret opening this gift?"

"What was your reaction to letting me trim the tree?"

"Ten."

"...Then that."

**VALENTINE'S DAY**  
"'Roses are red, violets are blue, Abigail's dead, but I like you.' What does it say about me that I find this strangely touching?"

"I believe it means you've become accustomed to celebrating with me."

"Yeah, let's go with that. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Will."


	9. Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Beverly visits Will in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane just as a visit and not for a case". 
> 
> TW for mentions of suicide.

“Beverly!” exclaims Will as she sidles into the room, trying to balance the tray of drinks and the bag of food. “I didn't expect it to be you.”

She snorts as she sets everything down on the table. “Thanks a lot, Graham. Good to know I'm so loved.”

“No, no,” he backtracks, “I'm glad it's you, I just thought it was going to be. You know.”

“It's the second Tuesday of the month, Will, who else would it be?” Then Beverly grins. “Wasn't Alana just here?”

He blushes red and stammers out a “yeah”. “That's not what I meant, though.”

“Oh, you mean the doc. How many hot pieces of ass do you need visiting you in here, and before you ask, I am definitely including myself in that category.” She reaches into the bag and tosses Will one of the cheeseburgers across the table. “Figured the food in here's probably shit. Not that this is much better, but you know. Big Macs are good for the soul or whatever.”

“Thanks,” he says, opening his up. “You're right about the food, though it's not as though this place encourages the appetite.”

“Especially if you keep having to talk to Chilton,” she says, rolling her eyes. Will looks about ready to snap his handcuffs in two.

“Can we not talk about Chilton?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. What do you want to talk about?”

He sighs, thinking about it. “I don't know. Just tell me something good. Or at least ...neutral.”

“You'll like this one – Jack caught Zeller and Price making out in one of the closets on their lunch break.”

“Why would I like that?!” Will sputters.

“Because I know for a fact you had money on it in the office pool.”

He gives a small laugh. “I had forgotten about that – seems like so long ago.”

“Will, it was four months ago.”

“A lot has happened since then.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she says, taking a drink from her straw. “Let's see, what else...like three people are pregnant now, Fletcher got engaged, typical boring stuff like that.”

“What about you?” Will asks, finally starting in on his burger.

Beverly shrugs. “Had a couple dates, but no one cool. I'm trying to shape Zeller into an acceptable drinking buddy, but it's not working out. Oh, and I punched Freddie Lounds in the face when she came snooping around my place.”

Will groans. “She's after you now? God, I'm sorry, Beverly.”

“No big deal. She was poking around in my yard like I had fucking buried a bunch of Secret Will Graham Information with my geraniums, I came out to tell her to screw off, she insinuated some stuff about you, I popped her one.”

“And she didn't have you arrested?” Typical Will, ignoring the part where other people stand up for him.

“Oh, she tried. But I knew those cops, she was trespassing, it was a whole big thing. She decided not to bother.”

“If I wasn't chained to this table I would give you a hug,” he declares.

“I never thought I'd see the day,” she says, smiling. “Will Graham actually offering someone physical contact.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Next thing we know Chilton's therapy will be working.”

“I thought you didn't want to talk about him.”

“I don't, but I know he's listening and I wanted to get one in.”

“You're terrible and I love it.” She eats a couple bites of her Big Mac in silence, watches Will do the same. It's harder for him with his hands chained together and then to the table, but he's managing admirably. Even if he's getting lettuce down the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “So how are you doing, Will? I mean, obviously not good, but. I still want to know.”

He puts down his food and stares hard into the surface of the table. “I can still feel him beneath my skin,” he says, finally. “Like he's pulling my strings to make me move, even from in here. I don't know what else he could want from me, but I feel that pull all the same.”

Beverly's still not sure how she feels about Will's insistence that Doctor Lecter is the real murderer. On the one hand, yeah, the guy is kind of shady, and she doesn't really believe Will was capable of this kind of thing, even at his worst and lowest, but on the other hand Lecter's come up clean as a whistle in the FBI's investigation. But regardless of whether he did it or not, he's got some kind of grip on Will's mind, and she doesn't like that. 

But since she's bound not to discuss the investigation, and since she's not convinced either way, she remains silent.

“I guess I shouldn't complain,” Will says after a moment. “They probably take better care of me in here than I ever did for myself.”

“Dude, you're basically in an asylum. I think if you want to complain you can go ahead. Plus you're just as scruffy as ever, so they can't be doing that well.” She winks, so he knows it's a joke.

“Well, you know. Razor blades in mental hospitals.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

That effectively kills conversation for about ten minutes, and they only have an hour to hang out. Beverly tries again.

“You know we're trying to get you out, right? Everyone's on your side, except maybe Jack, and Alana's taking him to task about it.”

“I think I know that, but it's hard to remember when you're cooped up in a cage like an animal. All you can really see is the bars around you, and not the people beyond them trying to get the keys.”

“Well, with any luck you'll be out soon, and we can have a party. As my gift to you, you don't have to come.”

He smirks at that, still looking at the table. “With any luck.”

Conversation flows a bit easier for the last chunk of their time together, as they both strive to avoid the topics of Will's incarceration and his fixation on Doctor Lecter. She does most of the talking, sharing dumb work stories and showing him the few covert pictures she snapped in the lab when she got bored (Price wearing a disembodied brain as a hat is her personal favourite). 

“You lab jockeys have such a sick sense of humour,” he says, passing the phone back after looking at it.

“It's half of why I got into this line of work,” she says, sliding it into her pocket. Before she can add anything else, one of Chilton's orderlies is coming in to fetch her. 

“Time's up,” he says, gesturing for her to stand up.

“Yeah, coming,” she replies, gathering up the garbage of their lunch. “Looks like I have to go. I'll see you in two weeks, all right?”

He gives a small wave, made pathetic by the way his hands are strapped down. “Not if I see you first.”


	10. Admiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Hannibal will kill as many judges as necessary to free Will".
> 
> Written before episode 2.04/the promo for 2.05.

“Another one bites the dust,” Beverly tells him, throwing a newspaper down on the small metal table. _Third judge in Graham case killed_ reads the front page. Will picks it up, skims the article. The third judge to attempt to try his case murdered by mutilation in her office, the day she threw out testimony that pointed in Will's favour. “Someone really wants you out of here.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment,” he says, “I wish they'd go about it a little differently.”

Of course, he knows exactly who it is: his old friend, the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal Lecter. Both the motive and the M.O. fit perfectly, and after the previous two kills he got visits from the doctor shortly after that were all smirks and verbal gymnastics. He may as well have made him a card -- _Dear Will, I hope you appreciate this gift. Your friend, Hannibal Lecter._

But he's not about to try that tack with Beverly or Jack or anyone who comes to visit him. The only person he might talk about it with is Dr. Du Maurier, should she wander in again, and Will sincerely hopes she doesn't, that she's gotten far away and out of Lecter's clutches. So far that seems to be what's happened, by the small amounts of information Hannibal's seen fit to give him, and he feels a smug satisfaction on Du Maurier's part.

“You mean you don't want someone murdering you to freedom?” Beverly asks, mock-shocked.

Will gives a small smile at that. It's nice when Beverly visits just to see him and talk about current events rather than cases. He'll even take having to talk about Hannibal's gruesome advances over work at this point. “Can't say I'm into it.”

“Well, who would be. Any idea why they're doing it?”

He represses a sigh. He doesn't really want to go into the details of the Ripper's twisted fascination with him. “It's a demonstration of affection. Instead of just leaving them as gifts for me to work on, he's actively killing anyone that presents an obstacle to my freedom.”

“But why would he do that?”

“He misses me.”

* * *

“It appears your trial has been derailed once more,” Hannibal says, standing behind the line on the floor, coat folded over his arm. 

“Another day, another dead judge,” Will sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “At this point I think I might take a guilty verdict as long as it keeps the bodies from piling up.”

“I don't think this killer is going to allow that, Will. He seems quite set on your freedom.”

“It's too bad that they've found so much evidence against me, then,” he says, looking directly at Hannibal.

“Yes, it is unfortunate.”

“The judges are going to keep seeing it as damning me.”

“I'm sure one will see your innocence.”

“And if not, my _admirer_ is going to kill them. Not exactly the most reassuring of circumstances. No one's going to believe I really didn't commit those murders if the only reason I got off the hook was because of the demon looking over my shoulder.”

“Is that important to you?”

“Yes! I don't want people thinking of me as a murderer, and that's going to happen even if I get a proper acquittal. With this looming over me no one is going to believe a word I say.”

“Surely those who matter will believe the truth of your acquittal,” Hannibal says, frowning slightly.

“Yeah, we'll see. Assuming they don't throw me into prison out of spite for someone killing those judges for my benefit.”

“It would be excellent grounds for appeal if they did so.”

“Is now really a time for jokes, Doctor?”

“My apologies, Will,” he says, inclining his head. “That was inappropriate.”

 _You usually are_ , he doesn't say.

“As your friend,” Lecter continues into Will's silence, “I can say with conviction that I believe in you and your innocence. A judge will see that.”

“Or you'll kill them?”

Hannibal only smiles. “I will return next week. After all, I am a great admirer of yours.”


	11. Enshrined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Beverly finds Hannibal's Will Shrine in his basement".

Beverly had prepared herself thoroughly for going down into that basement. If Will's allegations were true, then it surely contained dead bodies, the tools for preparing them, miscellaneous human remains, and other gruesome knick-knacks. So when she went down the short flight of steps leading into it, she steeled herself against what she was going to find. It was not as though she had never seen worse, working the cases of various killers, both creative and simple, she told herself.

She was wrong.

When she flipped on the lights, the fluourescent glow revealed _not_ a gory murderbasement, not a wine cellar, not anything she would have expected. The cinderblock room was instead covered floor to ceiling in pictures of Will, mostly candid shots of him not looking at the camera. Some of them even showed him sleeping, and one appeared to have been shot through his bathroom window while he was in the shower.

“Doctor Lecter, you are one sick freak,” she says, taking it down from the wall and pocketing it. Will would probably appreciate that not being found as evidence.

Against the back wall stands a table, surprisingly utilitarian for Lecter's usual sense of decor. On it stands a few more photographs, this time in frames (one of them seems to be Will's FBI badge picture), what appears to be one of Will's shirts, and a curl of his hair, all surrounded by unlit candles.

“Okay, this is both creepy _and_ unsafe,” she mutters, noting the candles' proximity to a massive amount of paper. _What does he even_ do _with this? Does he just sit in front of it?_

There's a sound from behind her. She wheels around, gun in hand, and immediately fires off several shots. But Lecter is ready, and quick, and he manages to shut off the lights and dodge out of her line of fire. She tries to kill him anyway. Suddenly, there's a hand on her wrist and one at her throat, and Lecter empties the gun through the ceiling, into what must be his dining room.

This absurd realization is, unfortunately, her last thought.

* * *

Later, Hannibal Lecter surveys the scene, replacing the picture of Will he found in the agent's pocket when he was disrobing her. 

“There,” he says to himself, smoothing it back out. “Good as new.” Katz didn't touch any of his other treasured possessions while she was down here, he notes with some satisfaction. She likely took the shower photo in an attempt to preserve Will's dignity when the investigators inevitably came down to see the shrine. Hannibal can appreciate the sentiment, even if he considers her theft quite undignified.

It was a shame to have to kill her; he considered Katz an interesting and entertaining person. Nothing compared to Will, of course, but certainly not someone he would have killed if not for the provocation.

He observes his collection in silence for a few more minutes, wondering if Frederick Chilton could be persuaded to hand over one of Will's hospital jumpsuits, before shutting off the lights and locking the door tightly.

_No one must ever know._


End file.
